She swept the councilors with a long stare, taking in their looks of mingled outrage and conviction that they would soon be rid of her. These were Ballanor’s cronies, men who had supported Dornar because he promised to maintain their status and power. They would never accept her. Instead, they would do everything they could to undermine her at every turn.
She turned to Tristan and spoke loudly, ensuring everyone could hear. “Will you accept the position of Supreme Commander of the Blacks and Blues and join my new council?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he agreed without hesitation, but then flicked a tiny glance back toward Nim, his brow furrowed.
Lucilla patted his arm. “With Nim and the Hawks, of course.”
He gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It will be an honor.”
She turned back to the huddle of Ballanor’s councilors. “Gentlemen, you are dismissed, and this council is disbanded. The kingdom thanks you for your service, but you are no longer needed here. Please return your chains of office and vacate your rooms by the end of the day.”
“What? No!” There were howls of outrage as they all began shouting and pushing forward at once.
“Supreme Commander Tristan, please take the Blues in hand and escort these men and their families from my palace.”
Tristan called a command, and the Blues who had been standing uncertainly at the door stepped forward to form a threatening ring around the councilors.
Lucilla turned to the powerful Nephilim beside her. “Supreme Justice Ramiel, will you join my new council? I need good people at my side. And I believe our people have spent too long apart. I would like us to work together.”
Ramiel’s face softened as he agreed. “Thank you, Your Majesty. It will be a privilege.”
“It will mean staying here for some time, would that be possible?”
Ramiel dipped his chin. “Yes. I have spent too long at Eshcol, and I too would like to see our kingdom reunited.” He smiled softly. “And I am proud to stand beside you, Queen Lucilla.”
She reached out and clasped his hand, hoping that no one else could hear the tremor in her voice. “Thank you.”
Tristan ordered the Blues to escort the former councilors back to their rooms to pack, allocating two Nephilim guards to join each group, as much to keep watch on the Blues as to watch the councilors.
She watched them leave, wishing she had rooms of her own prepared. Damn, it would be good to take a bath, change into a dress that wasn’t damp with sweat, and have something to eat.
But that would have to wait.
She straightened her shoulders. First, she needed to take control of the palace. Then she desperately needed an update on the warriors on board theStar of the Sea. And Matt. Gods, she hoped that they were all okay.
She needed an immediate session with her fledgling council. They urgently needed more members and to start prioritizing tasks.
They needed to determine how best to haul the guards and soldiers back into an honorable force after months of Ballanor’s, Grendel’s, and Dornar’s rule. And after that, start looking to reshape their military force into something much more like what she’d seen on board theStar. And she urgently needed to deal with the breakdown in talks with Verturia and ensure that they were not about to enter into a war that she’d promised to prevent.
The multitude of tasks to be done rose ahead of her like a vast wall of responsibility. But somehow, she felt certain that they could do it if they worked together.
She had made it this far; she just had to keep on going. One thing at a time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dornar layon his back in the long grasses listening to the shouts of the men searching for him.
Longboats had trawled through the waves and even up on to the beach, but no one had made it as far as the rolling dunes. And he knew better than to stand and give them a lovely clear silhouette.
Instead, he lay in the swaying yellow and green grasses, well camouflaged by his copper-colored scales, and watched the skies slowly lighten. The heavy clouds that had followed them for the last few days were moving away, clustered in a dark band along the horizon while above him the sky was the pale, white-streaked blue of the encroaching winter.
He was bitterly cold despite his scales, the wind icy on his wet uniform, but it had been well worth swimming the last hundred feet so that he could leave the boat floating on the current. And it wasn’t the first time that he had hidden in the grass.
He had spent many hours lying, staring up at the sky much like this as a child. Planning.
He had always known, even as a child, that he was different. Better than everyone else. Especially the pitiful excuse for a man who he called father. His mother had always told him so.
She had told him he would be as rich and powerful as he was handsome and clever, and that he would leave the wretched farmhouse and its relentless back-breaking chores far behind. And he had never doubted it.
